


In All the Work of Your Hands

by potentiality_26



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: The weather in Chicago had been changing, the air sharpening, and they had spent a lot of late nights on the couch Marcus had gone back to sleeping on, just talking.Getting ready for Thanksgiving.





	In All the Work of Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Belated Thanksgiving fic, set ambiguously pre-S2. Title from Deuteronomy 24:19-22, mainly because I was in the "searching random Bible verses" portion of really hurting for a title.

“That isn’t football,” Marcus said.   “I’m not sure what it is or what its name should be, but it isn’t football.”

Tomas was laughing that long-suffering way of his.  “Trust me, I wish your idea of football was the American idea of football too, but it isn’t.”

He looked melancholy, then, and Marcus wondered if perhaps he hadn’t teased a little too far. The weather in Chicago had been changing, the air sharpening, and they had spent a lot of late nights on the couch Marcus had gone back to sleeping on, just talking.  Apparently, Olivia had all sorts of Thanksgiving plans, some new obsessions and trendy ideas, but others based around traditions going back years with her family- a family Tomas was only tangentially a part of.  One of them was watching football- American football- while grazing on the feast.  Any little thing- including the much greater popularity of soccer in Mexico- could bring to his mind the sharp division between himself and his sister, even now that they were sharing family traditions and celebrations again.  Even now that they were close enough for Marcus to be invited to this particular Thanksgiving too.

And Marcus was grateful, of course.  Olivia’s slightly hybridized- but American leaning- Thanksgiving, where she made tamales alongside a turkey and mashed potatoes, was unfamiliar- but no more so than anything else a real family might do together.  Tomas was keenly aware of that- Marcus knew it from their late night talks.  Tomas was often too hard on himself- Marcus knew that from their late night talks too.  He was never more so than when he caught himself complaining- his word, not Marcus’- about his childhood, which was practically idyllic when he compared it to Marcus’ own.  Mostly, Marcus just listened and prayed that Tomas’ innate sense of justice wouldn’t allow him to believe such a thing for very long.  Sometimes he did try to explain that such comparison of suffering did no good, and never took in the whole picture anyway, but it didn’t feel right.  Marcus had never been that kind of priest, and he didn’t want to be Tomas’ anyway.    

The sad twist of Tomas’ mouth straightened back into a proper smile.  “Anyway, Luis likes this kind.”

Marcus smiled back.  “In this case, I’ll have to learn to like it.”

Tomas’ smile brightened even more.  It always did when they spoke of his nephew.  His whole body seemed to relax.  “So, are you going to help me or just sit there and complain about football?”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted help.”

Marcus was on the couch yet again, watching from there as Tomas darted around the kitchen and fussed over cranberry sauce, the assignment Olivia had given him for the dinner tomorrow.  She had decided there could be nothing canned. 

From Tomas’ love of takeout, Marcus had guessed that he didn’t cook much- but that hadn’t prepared him for how at a loss Tomas would be.  With his thick-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose and the light of the stove shining on his face as he bent over a cookbook, Tomas at a loss was a beautiful thing.  Too beautiful.  Marcus hardly knew what Tomas would ever want from him at all.  This was for Tomas’ family, anyway.  It was about him.  Marcus was just tagging along. 

“You-” Tomas seemed to cut himself off sharply.  Marcus didn’t know what he had meant to say.  He didn’t know what Tomas was thinking.  But whatever it was made his expression go tender.  “I would like help,” he said. 

Marcus nodded and rose, crossing to him in the kitchen.  “I think you’re worrying too much about this,” he said, letting himself came to a stop close enough to Tomas’ side that if he swayed a little- and he did- his shoulder would brush up against Marcus’ chest.  “Cooking- at least this kind of cooking- is more about following your instincts than what’s actually written down, yeah?” 

A line appeared between Tomas’ eyebrows, his expression caught between further teasing and genuine confusion.  “You know a lot about cooking?”

Marcus hummed.  “Some.”

The problem with Tomas’ cranberry sauce- which was mostly just sugar and cranberries at the moment- was that it was far too thin, and the flavor was out of balance besides. 

“I didn’t think you would.”  Tomas was still frowning faintly.  “Because you…” Marcus could _feel_ him searching for the right word.  “Traveled so much.”

“Not a lot of money for eating out, either,” Marcus reminded him.  True, he had spent more time hanging around near dumpsters than Tomas would probably like to know, but he had also spent a lot of time just waiting for things to come to a crisis- in houses, in nunneries, in old church basements.  And a lot of people, even when they had almost nothing, and even when they forgot almost everything else, still cooked. 

“I wasn’t too far from here at Thanksgiving about five years ago,” Marcus said, going over to Tomas’ fruit bowl for an apple- which would help thicken the sauce and make it sweeter without it being too sweet besides.  “There was this old woman who lived in an RV park.  She had a garden out back that she couldn’t really take care of anymore, so she paid this teenage boy to do it after school.  She was the one who noticed that something was wrong with him, not his family.  She talked to a priest, and the priest called me.  I was in that RV with her for about two weeks.  And she taught me her secret recipe for cranberry sauce.”

“And the boy?”

“He’s in his last year of college now.”  Marcus kept going as he talked.  He liked the simplicity of cooking, liked how one task built on another until it was ready.  There were few straightforward endings in this world.  That boy was happy now, but it had taken a long time for him to get that way, and as Angela Rance had proven he might not even get to stay that way.  But there were endings in a kitchen- good ones, usually, which this time could be shared with a family that was almost maybe his.  

“You’re good with that knife,” Tomas pointed out as Marcus finished peeling and coring the apple.

Marcus took a breath.  “Want me to show you?”

Tomas nodded and stepped forward.  He came to a stop next to the cutting board and Marcus settled just behind him.  Marcus always ran a little cold; he overheated easily in a hot summer, burned to a crisp under the full sun, and then as soon as the seasons started to change his fingers got all cold and stiff.  But Tomas’ fingers were warm underneath his, easily guided around the handle of the knife, easily tilted into the right rocking motion to chop the apple into small enough pieces to disappear right into the sauce. 

Tomas leaned back against him, just a little, and for a moment anything was possible.  There weren’t a lot of straightforward endings in the world, but there were beginnings, and sometimes those were the best part.  It would be easy, for instance, to press his face into the crook of Tomas’ neck and inhale.  He had showered earlier after his morning run, and he still smelled like the shampoo Marcus had been borrowing.  The clean scent of it, the tang of routine, the slightly overexpensive- for a priest, anyway- quality of it… These things couldn’t last, not if Tomas left with Marcus like he planned, and not if he didn’t.  They were in the easy part right now all right; he wanted to let it stay easy a little longer.  

“Good,” he said, drawing back.  The tension of the moment burst, but like a popped bubble it left a film over everything, shining and warm.  “This is going to need just a little cinnamon.”

“I’ll get it,” Tomas said, smiling with just that trace of melancholy again.  “I think Olivia will like this,” he said as he reached up.

“Good,” Marcus said again.  Family traditions probably couldn’t last either, but it was worth having a taste. 

Even if Americans were wrong about football.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://potentiality-26.tumblr.com) or [dreamwidth](https://potentiality-26.dreamwidth.org). The dreamwidth account is slightly dead at the moment, but that might change if things get a little busier over there.


End file.
